There was a spring in his carefully measured step. He opened the door and let the sunlight in, as if opening himself up, letting pent-up energy out and, letting the world enter inside- letting the light illuminate him. It was strange to see him like that, a tad amusing perhaps. He had thought it over. He had decided to welcome me with happiness and joy and to present his best self to me, whenever I decide to come.

There was a story etched in each wrinkle on his forehead-the stories any long life can amass but that only a lonely life locks forever.

I went closer this time and touched him. He let out a deafening shriek, as if something had pierced into his heart. I held his hand and sat there, admiring the intricate network of life on them. The creases and folds in his body were testament to the cruelty that he had been subjected to in this world. The watery eyes screamed of the pain, the agonising wait to leave this godforsaken place forever, that had given him nothing but pleadings for mercy.

With every morsel I ate, I looked into her eyes and apologised for not being able to feed her enough. Her eyes, in turn, apologised for not being able to help me in these tough times.

The thing about waiting is that the longer you wait, the more impatient you become.